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Fujiki’s been acting weird lately.
Naoki can’t quite put his finger on it. But ever since Fujiki got back from his extended absence—which he only ever explained as a ‘family emergency’—there’s been something different about him, something subtle but definitely there.
After all the months he’s missed, it’s about time Fujiki stopped skipping or sleeping through class, but it isn’t just that he’s now paying attention; no, it’s the way he holds himself—more purpose and energy in his movements, as if he was merely going through the motions before—and actually greets other Duel club members in the hallway, and checks his prehistoric brick of a phone almost like a normal person—
He’s doing it right now, scrolling through his texts between classes (who would text Fujiki, anyway?) and doing something weird with his face, eyebrows lifting, mouth curving up at the corners, and—
Hang on.
No way. He can’t be.
But he is. Fujiki’s smiling.
At his phone.
Naoki has to alert the media.
Or at least the Duel club. They’re the only other people familiar enough with Fujiki to have an informed opinion on his asocial ass.
“Anyone can smile at their phone for any number of reasons, Shima-kun,” Hosoda says reprovingly. Naoki shakes his head vigorously, gesticulating in an attempt to convey just how earth-shattering this development is.
“President, you don’t get it! You’re not his classmate, so you wouldn’t know, but Fujiki never smiles. Ever. It would have to be something huge to get him to soften up at all!”
Tanaka and Suzuki look appropriately impressed by Naoki’s logic, but Hosoda remains firm.
“Fujiki-kun’s social life—” he hesitates over the words, like he’s having difficulty wrapping his mind around the concept himself, “—is his business. Let’s just be happy for him and leave it at that.”
Geez, it’s not like Naoki’s only interested in idle gossip! He’s just stating an obvious fact! He’s known Fujiki nearly a year now, and it’s got to be something or someone, some incredible catalyst that’s making him act like this. He’s sure he’s not imagining this change in his surly best friend.
(Granted, Naoki doesn’t really know enough about what said best friend likes that could factor into it, but going by his past attempts to draw him into conversation it’s safe to assume Fujiki doesn’t like anything.)
Well, alright, maybe he’s not just curious for curiosity’s sake. But he’s allowed to be a little annoyed, surely, when he’s been trying so hard to pull Fujiki out of his shell since they first met, no matter how often or how brusquely Fujiki turns down his invitations to hang out in Link VRAINS so Naoki can give him pointers for his crappy deck, only for some mysterious unknown to appear out of nowhere and make him smile and behave like an approachable human being for a change.
Still, his newfound good humour could work in Naoki’s favour. Naoki wastes no time trying his luck, seizing the next opportunity to pester Fujiki to finally go to Link VRAINS with him, only to be met with as blunt a refusal as ever. So much for that hope.
“What do you even carry that Duel Disk around for if you never want to use it?” Naoki demands, exasperated. He can see it right there jutting out of Fujiki’s bag, no doubt along with that terrible deck so desperately in need of improvement.
Fujiki doesn’t even flicker, hardly bothering to follow the line of his accusatory finger.
“Old habits.” He shoves his school tablet into his bag and tries to close it, but the zip catches on something spilling out, and he fiddles with it long enough for Naoki to get a good look.
Naoki isn’t quite sure what it’s supposed to be. It’s kind of abstract-looking, a curving purple teardrop shape with a couple of smooth yellow stones just above the round end. There’s something vaguely familiar about the design, but Naoki’s more surprised that Fujiki would own a decorative charm at all. Besides, doesn’t this kind of thing go on cellphones more often than Duel Disks?
Maybe, this could be a clue to Fujiki’s strange behaviour. He’s freeing it from the zipper with far more care than Naoki’s ever seen him take before, and Naoki peers closer at the trinket with redoubled interest.
“Hey, where’d you get this?” Fujiki stiffens, hands stilling, and Naoki hastens to add, “Relax, I’m not making fun of you! It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’re into, you know?” Not that that category contains anything to Naoki’s knowledge.
“It was a gift,” Fujiki says shortly.
Naoki opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He might have said some admittedly tactless things in the past—still not a patch on everything Fujiki’s said to him, at least—but even he knows voicing his astonishment that anyone would give Fujiki a gift isn’t likely to get him any answers.
“Too bad you don’t have a functioning Disk to put it on,” he can’t resist sniping instead. Really, if Fujiki’s ever going to get serious about Duelling, he might as well get a system that can support an AI to hold his hand through the basics before Naoki takes him to the network proper. “You really should invest in one of the new models. I bet Zaizen would hook you up if you asked her.”
Fujiki finally gets his bag in order and slings it over his shoulder. “The old model suits me just fine,” he says, and his usually impassive face transforms before Naoki’s eyes, cheeks rounding as the corner of his mouth tugs up like he’s recalling a private joke. “And I’ve grown too fond of it to give it up now.” And he’s gone, leaving Naoki to gape after him like a beached fish.
Okay, he definitely didn’t imagine that.
Naoki goes back quickly over Fujiki’s choice of words. This is the first time he’s ever expressed any actual sentiment; if Fujiki has any attachment at all to his woefully outdated Disk, it’s got to be a recent development, probably to do with that mysterious charm. A charm that, Naoki finally recalls, looks kind of like a bootleg version of those little mascot head Easter eggs that used to turn up everywhere, back when Link VRAINS was running that Ai-LAND event.
But who would give Fujiki a delicate trinket like that? Misguided parents? A little sister? His illicit boss, in lieu of a cash bonus?
None of those theories explains why it’s on his precious Disk instead of his phone. Maybe he’s just too embarrassed to admit he bought it himself. Maybe he’s one of those jerks with a secret soft spot for cute stuff.
… No, that’s not right either. Sheer absurdity aside, Naoki can’t imagine Fujiki caring enough about what anyone thinks of him to lie.
Suppose he’s telling the truth and someone did give him an event charm specifically for his Disk. Whoever it was must be a Duelist themself, then, though if they’ve been trying to get Fujiki to take more interest in the game it clearly hasn’t worked. All they’ve accomplished is that Fujiki carries an impractical accessory based on an event he never participated in held in a virtual venue he doesn’t care to access, attached to an obsolete console for a game he barely knows how to play.
Which can only mean that Fujiki really, really likes this person.
Unbidden, the image of his softened features conjures itself in Naoki’s memory—green eyes shining at some fond association, distant as though he wasn’t there in the classroom but miles away with someone else.
The truth dawns on Naoki with all the force of a Direct Attack.
So that’s why Fujiki’s been so different lately! He’s been—
Somehow, Naoki can’t bring himself to finish the thought, as if the revelation isn’t real until he gives it form through words. But he’s got to push through. He’s Brave Max! He’s Playmaker’s soulmate! And he’s going to get to the bottom of this, if only because he can’t unrealise it and if he doesn’t find out who it is Fujiki’s dating he will never know peace again.
Naoki takes a moment to sincerely pity the poor martyr. Sure, he can admit Fujiki’s not bad-looking at all—nothing on, say, Playmaker, of course, though Fujiki does have big green eyes kinda like his, talk about lucky—and Naoki can see how he’d turn more than a few heads with the whole ‘tall, aloof and handsome’ thing.
His personality, however, leaves a lot to be desired. At least he’s starting to give more to work with than bored stares and numbered lists of rude responses, but Naoki can’t exactly picture him in any interaction that would lead to a high school romance. Not unless he held up three fingers and droned out three reasons why his victim should go out with him.
… God, that’s probably exactly what he did, isn’t it? At least it narrows the field somewhat; all Naoki has to do is find out who Fujiki knows who would accept an advance along those lines. There isn’t exactly a huge pool of suspects to go through, after all. How hard can it be?
Realistically, there’s only one obvious candidate, and she’s conveniently close enough for a proper investigation.
Honestly, had it been anyone else Naoki would have suspected it a long time ago—after all, what could be more natural than a girl falling for the handsome classmate who basically saved her life? Well, Fujiki really only called the ambulance, but not everyone can be as fortunate as Naoki in the saviour department.
Now that he’s really, really paying attention, it’s like his vision has been born anew, privy to a secret no one else has even begun to guess at. Just like Fujiki, Zaizen has become a little more talkative lately, especially since his return to school; she’s smiling more, too, always the first to greet Fujiki before class, and Naoki can’t help but notice at the next club meeting that her Disk no longer has an AI.
Out of solidarity, perhaps? Fujiki would be too proud—or too disinterested—to let his rich girlfriend get him an upgrade even if she wanted to. Makes sense that the only gift he’d accept is a simple accessory.
It explains why Zaizen warmed up to him of all people; she’s never let anyone else get close, although Naoki supposes he can understand her standoffishness. There must be any number of scoundrels looking to cosy up to a rich, pretty girl with her connections. Fujiki may be a tactless jerk, but Naoki knows he’s not a bad guy, and his insistence on keeping his old Disk only proves it.
They’ve got a fair bit in common, too—all aloof and reserved and icily attractive. What do they even talk about together? Schoolwork? Duelling? Maybe they don’t talk; maybe they just sit in silence and do their own thing in opposite corners of the same room. Hey, whatever floats their boat.
The more Naoki thinks about it, the more he can’t believe he didn’t spot it before. All the pieces of the puzzle fit perfectly. There’s absolutely no way Zaizen isn’t Fujiki’s girlfriend. The idea that there’s more than one girl who can withstand prolonged exposure to that walking block of ice is beyond him.
“It’s not me,” Zaizen says flatly.
They’re the only ones in their class also in the Duel club, and Fujiki’s elected to skip the meeting again, so no one else is around to witness Naoki’s pet theory crumble at his feet.
(Fujiki’s never seemed to care at all that Naoki spends more time with his supposed girlfriend than he himself does. Naoki’s been wondering lately if this is a testament to their friendship or simply another layer of insult, but now it looks like there was never any reason for Fujiki to be jealous.)
“We’re just friends,” Zaizen adds, only tipping more cold water onto the ashes of Naoki’s certainty—but wait.
“Since when?” Naoki splutters.
Zaizen shrugs. “We’ve run into each other a few times,” she says, never slowing her pace as they make their way to the clubroom. “He’s easier to talk to away from school.”
“Away from—” Naoki lowers his voice, eyes darting about furtively despite the empty corridor. “You mean his secret job?”
Zaizen shoots him a sharp glance. “The food truck,” she confirms, after a brief pause. “The owner’s a friend of his, so he’s usually there even when he’s not working.”
Naoki’s never even seen Fujiki at the plaza without his being firmly planted behind the truck’s concession window. Just how often has Zaizen been visiting him?
“Are you sure you’re not his girlfriend?” Naoki asks, plaintive tone audible even to his own ears.
“Absolutely,” Zaizen says firmly. She’s beginning to look amused now, which Naoki would appreciate as a novelty if it wasn’t at his expense. “Believe me; if Fujiki-kun wants someone, they’ll know.”
This is altogether too much to process at once. That Zaizen, who is not Fujiki’s girlfriend, knows so much about him that Naoki, his best friend, doesn’t—
“Aha!” Naoki scrambles to outpace Zaizen as they approach the clubroom, swivelling to face her and giving her pause just outside the door. The last thing he needs is another reprimand from the president. “So there is someone after all! You know who it is, don’t you?”
Zaizen’s amusement fades. She looks at Naoki the way she used to at the start of the school year, warily blank like she’s calculating just how much to give away.
“There is someone,” she says at last, “but I’m not going to tell you who it is. That’s Fujiki-kun’s business.”
She ignores Naoki’s spluttering protests and moves past him to enter the clubroom, but pauses with her hand on the door, sparing him a bland glance over her shoulder.
“If you want to know so badly,” she says, “why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Or he could just ask Fujiki himself. Maybe Zaizen’s right and Naoki’s been making things needlessly complicated. But he has to tread carefully—he hasn’t forgotten the way Fujiki tensed up when he mentioned the charm. Fujiki wouldn’t lie to him, but he could easily refuse to answer, could turn cold and stony again and all Naoki’s efforts at camaraderie throughout the past year will have been for nought.
So Naoki bides his time, waiting for a cue that will allow him to bring it up without making his prying obvious. Cool, collected and natural, just like Playmaker. He’s totally got this.
“Heeey, Fujiki.”
Fujiki looks up at him and doesn’t immediately look at his phone again, which is great progress in itself.
“Who’re you texting?” Naoki presses on, hoping his friendly grin broadcasts ‘casually interested’ instead of simply ‘manic’.
Fujiki looks at him. Naoki tries not to sweat.
“Takeru,” Fujiki says at last.
“Take-who?” Naoki isn’t quite sure what he expected, but the answer still takes him by surprise, and he struggles for a moment to place the name. “Homura? You’re still in touch with him?” He frowns. “Man, what happened to that guy, anyway? He just stopped coming to school, and no one’s seen him since!”
“He moved back to his old place,” Fujiki says—not irritably, but not exactly in a forthcoming mood, either. His phone buzzes in his hand, and just like that, Naoki’s lost him again.
So that’s that, then. Fujiki’s mystery texting buddy is just Homura. If it weren’t for Zaizen’s confirmation that Fujiki’s seeing someone at all, Naoki would start to wonder if he hasn’t maybe been overthinking things just a little. As it is, he’s back to square one with no promising leads.
Maybe he could try to get Homura’s number under some kind of pretext? If Fujiki’s friendly enough with him to smile at his texts, not to mention text back, Homura might know something Naoki doesn’t. At the very least, he shouldn’t be anywhere near as cagey as Zaizen.
Unless.
Naoki never knew Homura well; he wasn’t in their class, and Naoki only ever really saw him tagging along after Fujiki, all fluffy hair and bright eyes like an eager puppy.
A little too eager, perhaps.
Naoki darts a glance at Fujiki, who’s still tapping out a reply to whatever Homura’s said to him—and it must be something good, because, yes, there’s that tiny, relaxed smile, the one Naoki wouldn’t have consciously noticed before he finally figured it out.
Huh.
No wonder Zaizen was so reluctant to say anything.
…
Huh.
He supposes it makes sense, too, as much as his previous theory did; from what little he remembers of Homura, the new guy latched on to Fujiki the moment he set foot on school grounds. They must have known each other before, or Fujiki would never have let him get away with acting so familiarly, not when Fujiki took weeks to even remember Naoki’s name.
This one’s going to be hard to follow up on. Unlike Zaizen, Homura isn’t conveniently available to just ask, and despite his far more approachable demeanour he’s just as much of a mystery. But Naoki’s absolutely certain this time; himself aside, he’s never seen Fujiki exchange more than passing greetings with anyone other than Zaizen and Homura. He might know even less about his best friend than he thought, but it’s not like Fujiki’s got a whole secret social network of potential partners. It’s just process of elimination. It’s only logical.
Calm, analytical. Playmaker’s going to be so proud of him.
For the conclusive evidence he needs, Naoki takes a quick detour after school on Thursday. If Fujiki can’t and Zaizen won’t be pressed, there’s only one other lead he can think of that might be of any use.
“Homura Takeru, huh?” the hotdog vendor says absently, attention more on the hotplate than on Naoki. “Yeah, he’s a good kid. It was nice having him around—Yusaku needed a friend his own age, anyway.”
“I’m his friend, too,” says Naoki, trying not to sound too disgruntled. It’s not his fault he’s never visited Fujiki at work; unlike some people, he thought it would be better not to draw attention to him at his very publicly situated job he isn’t allowed to have. Besides, Naoki gets brushed off often enough at school. He doesn’t need to give Fujiki a valid reason to ignore him in favour of paying customers.
The vendor glances at him as he serves up the last of his current orders, recognition dawning on his face. “You’re his classmate, right? Shima?”
Naoki’s indignation evaporates instantly. Fujiki’s been talking about him! To his friend-boss!
“That’s right! I’m his best friend, Shima Naoki!” Naoki remembers himself and glances about nervously. It’s a slow day—he specifically waited for a window when there would be few customers about, and Fujiki let slip earlier that he was going to the library after school. There’s only one customer lingering, a tall, dark-haired figure seated a good distance away with their back turned to the truck, and Naoki allows himself to relax.
He’s taken pains to prepare his part of the script. It’s up to Fujiki’s boss to fill in the blanks.
“There’ve been rumours about Homura since he stopped coming to school.” It isn’t technically untrue, even if the real deal is a lot less damaging than Naoki’s implying. “I just, uh, wanted to make sure Fujiki’s safe with him, you know? As his best friend and all.”
The hotdog man leans against the counter. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Like I said, Takeru’s a good kid. Hotheaded, but he wouldn’t get Yusaku into any trouble.”
Naoki tucks that comment away for later. “That’s a relief. They’ve known each other a long time, haven’t they?”
The hotdog man shakes his head. “Nah, they met for the first time when Takeru transferred over this year. Seems they just hit it off right away.”
What.
“Must’ve been some first impression,” Naoki mutters, half to himself.
Hotdog man laughs. “You can say that again. First day they met, Yusaku bailed on me to go ride a Ferris wheel with him.”
Naoki nearly drops his schoolbag.
Fujiki’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? Going on an amusement park date within hours of meeting Homura for the first time—but then, Zaizen did say Fujiki was much more forward than anyone would have expected. And Homura sure doesn’t seem to have minded.
Have they been dating this entire time? Have the changes in Fujiki’s demeanour been so gradual that it took his best friend this long to finally notice?
“Hey,” the hotdog guy says cheerfully, pulling Naoki out of his thoughts. “Don’t look so serious. High schoolers should be enjoying life.” He slides a paper coffee cup over the counter. “Here. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Yusaku you came today.”
The cup is warm in Naoki’s hands. “Uh. Thanks?”
“No problem.” The hotdog guy grins at Naoki. “You probably already know this, but Yusaku gets pretty protective of his friends. It’s good to know he has someone looking out for him at school, too.”
Great. Now Naoki’s the asshole.
Somehow, getting his answer isn’t as satisfying as Naoki thought it would be. Maybe it was too easy. After all, uncovering information that was private but never really a secret is hardly a feat worthy of Brave Max.
Maybe it’s because knowing fundamentally changes nothing. While he’s more or less sated his own curiosity, Naoki still can’t really talk to anyone about it; he can only hope Fujiki will eventually confide in him of his own volition, although at Fujiki’s current thawing pace Naoki’s not sure it’ll happen before graduation.
Life goes on as usual, in defiance of the upheaval of Naoki’s entire worldview. Fujiki continues to text Homura and smile at his replies, which Naoki supposes is his version of goo-goo heart eyes, and Naoki continues trying to persuade Fujiki to hang out with him. He’s throwing in real-world suggestions now; he doesn’t want to step on any toes, not if Duelling has become a Thing between Fujiki and Homura, and Zaizen seems to have fared well enough just hanging around Fujiki’s workplace.
(Fujiki still doesn’t accept any of his invitations, but his rejections are much less sharp than before, so Naoki finds himself not minding too much. Homura must really be good for him.)
Maybe it’s just because Naoki’s come to associate Fujiki with threes. There should have been another suspect between Zaizen and Homura, shouldn’t there? As it is, the only other person in Fujiki’s life Naoki can think of is his boss—Kusanagi, as he learns when Fujiki’s in a good enough mood to respond to his occasional prodding—although that suspicion would never have lasted, not with the way the man talked about Fujiki like an indulgent older brother.
But it would have been something, wouldn’t it? Three suspects would have wrapped things up with a neatness Naoki’s sure Fujiki would have appreciated, in his own weird way.
Fujiki sure doesn’t appreciate neatness in a conventional way. Even though he’s cleaned up his act a little and started staying awake in class, there’s still that slacker air about him Naoki doesn’t think he’ll ever shake off. Fujiki simply doesn’t care about his appearance, especially since his boyfriend is no longer in town; Naoki can see the wrinkles in his uniform from where he’s seated at the same bench, Fujiki’s tie threatening to slip from its haphazard knot at any moment, and—is that jam on his rumpled collar?
Geez, there’s untidy and then there’s being an outright slob, you know? It’s a miracle he hasn’t already been caught by a teacher. Naoki makes up his mind to corner Fujiki after class—not that Fujiki will appreciate the concern, but Naoki’s used to that by now. He’s just that good a friend.
So good, in fact, that he scurries round to Fujiki’s side of the bench as soon as the bell rings, blocking his dishevelled state from view as their classmates stream out for lunch. Fujiki raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t try to escape from the other side, and Naoki offers a silent thanks to Homura for his mellowing influence.
“Oi, Fujiki,” Naoki begins as soon as they’re alone. “Do you even look in a mirror before coming to school?” His eyes are incessantly drawn to that smear of faint purple on Fujiki’s shirt collar under his ear, half-hidden by his blazer but still perfectly visible to anyone with eyes.
“No,” says Fujiki, like Naoki’s asked if he’s ever eaten cat food.
Why is Naoki best friends with him again? That way he has of not caring, of defying every expectation of what he’s supposed to be like in the bluntest, shortest words possible takes the wind out of Naoki’s sails every time.
“Well,” Naoki flounders, trying to regain his momentum. He can’t stop looking at that stain, and it’s not just him—the sunlight’s doing something weird to it, shining down on Fujiki’s window seat and making the jam… sparkle?
“Don’t let the teachers see you like that,” he tries again. “Come on, even you have to know we have a dress code, right?” He gestures vaguely at Fujiki’s neck.
Fujiki frowns, tugging at his collar and twisting his head to see what Naoki means—so he really didn’t know? Just how sloppy do you have to be to get jam on the back of your shirt and not know about it? Naoki would laugh at the sight if he wasn’t so exasperated.
“… I don’t see anything.” Fujiki tugs harder, exposing a flash of pale collarbone—and because he’s still seated and Naoki is standing over him, Naoki gets a closeup view of the smudged but unmistakable purple lip print stamped on his skin.
What the fuck.
Naoki must make some kind of mortified sound without realising, because the incriminating sight disappears as Fujiki stops tugging at his own shirt to give Naoki a perplexed look. Which is completely unfair, because that’s what Naoki should be doing!
Fujiki’s movements make the still-visible smear on his collar catch the sunlight again, and now that Naoki’s looking for it he can clearly see the flecks of gold glitter.
It dawns on him that this probably isn’t jam.
“A-Anyway!” Naoki finally steps away from the bench, allowing Fujiki out. “Just go look in the restroom mirror, alright? Don’t come crying to me if the teachers catch you!” And he flees, though not quickly enough to outrun the terrible weight of his forbidden knowledge.
The trouble is, Naoki decides, he’s too good a detective. It’s not like he can just leave it alone now—he’s seen too much, and besides, hasn’t he felt all along that the solution was too simple? That must have been his natural intuition, the same one Playmaker chose him for.
But it doesn’t add up. There’s no way Homura could be back in town—Fujiki himself said he wouldn’t visit for months, not until summer vacation at the earliest. Fujiki’s not a bad guy, and certainly not a cheater, right? No matter how big a jerk he is, whatever else he’s said and done, Naoki’s best friend would never betray someone like that.
So that rules out Homura entirely. They might have dated in the past, and maybe called it off when Fujiki had his family emergency or when Homura transferred out, but whoever left all that lipstick on Fujiki is someone very, very present.
Maybe Naoki needs to look at this from a different angle. Fujiki’s change in demeanour only became noticeable a little after his return, but Naoki discounts his absence itself as the cause—a family emergency lasting three months would leave no room for a functioning love life. There’s no one left at school it could be, so where else could Fujiki have met someone so soon after Homura? It’s not like he even goes anywhere remotely social; according to Zaizen, he spends his free time still hanging around his workplace, and that’s hardly any way to—
Wait a minute.
Of course.
How could Naoki have overlooked such a simple detail? He’s no stranger to the fact that Fujiki’s a good-looking guy, and with Fujiki working in the city plaza he can’t be the only one who’s noticed. It was only a matter of time before one of his regulars made a move.
It keeps coming back to the hotdog truck—and, in all likelihood, so does Fujiki’s mysterious suitor. Naoki’s gotten it wrong twice now, but his false leads have led him this far, and his intuition that left him so unsatisfied before is telling him he’s finally on the right track.
Third time’s the charm, right?
Naoki does not have a plan.
He’s not going to try talking to Kusanagi again. He still feels kind of bad about going so far behind Fujiki’s back, not to mention he doesn’t want Kusanagi to think he’s some kind of stalker—which also rules out his initial impulse to hang around the truck until he catches Fujiki in the act.
What would Playmaker do?
Don’t give up. Naoki can imagine his voice clear as day, offering words of faith and encouragement. I know you can do it. You’re the one I chose, after all.
There’s a decent-sized crowd at the plaza. The dark-haired figure from last time is back, sitting off to the side buried in some celebrity tabloid, along with a few other customers milling about—not much of a weekend rush, but enough to keep Fujiki too busy to notice Naoki loitering.
Naoki doesn’t have a plan. All leads may circle back to the truck, and asking around is one thing, but outright spying on Fujiki is not a line he’s willing to cross. And really, Naoki doesn’t need to hide or sneak around, or need a fake excuse to be here. He’s just an ordinary teenager come to visit his best friend at work. Even if he doesn’t find anything out, he’ll still get to rib Fujiki about his customer service like a regular friend would, which alone will make the whole trip worth it.
Mind made up, Naoki makes to march boldly up to the concession window—
“Fujiki Yusaku.”
—only for someone else to beat him to it.
“Ryoken.”
Naoki doesn’t hide. He’s better than that. If he shuffles closer to the truck, maybe picks a side table where he can watch both their faces, well, it’s a public space, and he’s right there in plain sight. Fujiki could easily spot him without even having to turn his head, but he won’t, because he only has eyes for his new, very attractive customer.
‘Ryoken’ doesn’t look much older than them, probably just old enough to be in university, but something about his manner gives him an air of cool maturity beyond his years. Fujiki clearly isn’t immune to the effect, but from the small, confidential smiles the two of them exchange, it looks like the feeling’s mutual.
“Another matter has come up we need to discuss,” Ryoken says without preamble, not even bothering to order anything. “We should continue where we left off… somewhere more private.” He waves a hand at the plaza around them, though neither of them tears their eyes away from each other.
Fujiki looks far more interested in Ryoken’s proposition than in the monotony of his job. “Is it urgent?”
“Not at present. But if it goes anything like last time, you should be prepared for another long night.”
Naoki nearly chokes on his own tongue.
Fujiki, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed. “Kusanagi-san won’t be back until nine,” he informs his not-customer. “I’ll meet you at your house afterwards.”
He perks up suddenly, like he’s recalled something important. “Ah, I don’t have my deck on me—I’ll remember to return your card later, too.”
“Keep it.” Ryoken holds up a hand; to his shock, Naoki catches sight of a small red tattoo, stark against his pale skin. “Think of it as a homecoming gift.” His smile tugs up at the corner, eyes glinting as he adds, “In exchange, I ask you not to serve me any more of your hotdogs—at least, not until your cooking skills are half as good as your Duelling.”
He turns on his heel with an “I’ll see you tonight, Fujiki Yusaku,” leaving Fujiki to glare at his hotplate like it murdered his family.
Without the distraction of another hot guy in the vicinity, Fujiki’s attention finally returns to his surroundings—and inevitably lands on Naoki, rising from his table in a half-crouch in full view of the truck window.
“Shima?” To Naoki’s relief, Fujiki doesn’t look at all annoyed—just surprised to see him, so he makes his way over, albeit without quite as much confidence as he originally intended before Ryoken showed up.
“Heeey, Fujiki,” Naoki says casually. “Just passing by and thought I’d drop in, see how you were doing, you know?”
Fujiki looks confused. “You’ve never come to the café before.”
“Yeah, well.” Naoki shrugs awkwardly. “Didn’t want to draw too much attention, but if you haven’t already gotten caught by now you’re probably safe.”
“Oh.” Fujiki seems to accept this. “Did you want to order something?”
“Um.” Ryoken may have a very vague, very weird way of setting up a date and might quite possibly be in a gang, but he’s left Naoki one invaluable piece of advice. “Maybe next time. Gotta get going; homework and all, you know how it is.”
Turning to escape, he catches the amused eye of the dark-haired customer over the top of his magazine, and departs in a hurry.
His investigation may not have gone quite as expected, but Naoki’s findings are far from unsatisfactory. Ryoken checks all the boxes; he gets along with Fujiki, well enough to successfully ask him out on short notice while making fun of him, and he’s already admitted to giving Fujiki a Duel Monsters-related gift. The gang part wasn’t in Naoki’s speculations, but Fujiki clearly doesn’t mind, and anything further is out of Naoki’s depth, not to mention irrelevant. He’s finally gotten the answer he was searching for.
With that, Naoki can say with certainty that the case is officially closed.
With the dawn of February, the excitement of the girls at school climbs to a fever pitch. Naoki’s never gotten more than the odd obligation chocolate, but he can’t help sharing their enthusiasm; there’s something infectious about the bright decorations in every storefront, the giddy buzz in the air rising all the way to Link VRAINS, where the upcoming events announced promise Naoki a fun evening even if he spends it alone at home once again.
At least, that’s what he thinks until his parents break the news.
Rather than go out for a romantic dinner, his parents are planning to spend this year’s Valentine’s at home, ordering in from the new SOLtiS delivery service (“three-star dining in the comfort of your own home,” the ads promise) and indulging in a lowkey date night.
Naoki doesn’t need to hear another word to know he has to leave. Staying in his room won’t block out the awareness that his parents are having a romantic evening in the same building, and not even the temptation of a luxury meal on Valentine’s Day can change his mind. He’ll just have to settle for an arcade VRAINS booth to spend his evening in.
It comes as no surprise that Zaizen hands Fujiki a small blue package first thing in the morning. No doubt it won’t be the last he gets today; Fujiki hasn’t said anything about his plans for the night, and for once Naoki hasn’t asked. Considering the lipstick incident, he’s decided the fewer intimate details he knows about Fujiki’s love life the better.
“Here.” Zaizen holds out a clear plastic package. Now this is a surprise; Naoki thought he might have slid back into her bad graces with all his questions. He stammers out his thanks, and she flashes him a brief but no less dazzling smile.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Shima.”
The year is already looking up. Naoki isn’t close enough to anyone else in school to get any more chocolates (he hates to admit it, but Fujiki made some points back at the start of the school year), but if Zaizen considers him something of a friend he’ll take it as a win.
Naoki’s good mood lasts all the way to the arcade. Search as he might, all the VRAINS booths have been reserved for the evening, presumably for single Duelists like him (at least, he really hopes the booths are booked by solo occupants). He considers his options—he can’t just enter Link VRAINS in public and leave himself vulnerable, but the thought of doing so in a restroom stall or cinema on Valentine’s Day is just too depressing.
With mental apologies to Blue Angel and her upcoming stage Duel, Naoki is forced to admit defeat.
What now? He’s got a few hours to kill before it’s safe to return home, and he’s not exactly in the mood for window shopping or a movie. He’s made his way to the plaza by force of habit, but the hotdog truck is nowhere in sight; not that he would have tried to hang out with Fujiki today of all days, but its absence really just cements Naoki’s now dampened mood.
All he needs is somewhere to sit and watch the Link VRAINS broadcast. That’s obviously out of the question—every bench, every seat in every restaurant seems to be occupied by happy couples, some of them not even bothering to stay in their separate seats for long. No; if Naoki wants some peace and quiet, he’s going to need a change of scenery.
Dusk is falling by the time the bus to Stardust Road reaches its destination. There are surprisingly few people out here; Naoki expected it to be a popular date spot, but it looks like there’s so little to do besides look at the ocean that most couples prefer to stay in the city proper.
Well, more benches for him. He sets his bag down and, getting out his tablet and a store-bought sandwich, loses himself in the broadcast.
Naoki doesn’t know how long he spends glued to his tablet screen. The stars are out in the sky when he finally tears his eyes away, the ocean dazzling with a soft glow so blue in some places it shimmers white. It’s a breathtaking sight, and Naoki doesn’t regret being here to see it.
The tranquillity of the night is shattered by an unfamiliar whine.
“Yuuuusaku.”
Naoki jerks his head round so quickly he nearly gets whiplash. Illuminated beneath a lamppost near the bend in the path is none other than Fujiki, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired stranger who is most certainly not Ryoken.
“Yuuusaku-chan,” the stranger repeats, draping himself over Fujiki’s shoulders like an uncommonly handsy shawl. “Pay attention to me!”
Fujiki ignores his companion’s insistent pawing. “We’re holding hands, on a date, on Valentine’s Day. What more attention do you want?”
Yup, that’s Fujiki, alright.
The mystery man gasps, flinging himself bodily off Fujiki. “Don’t tell me—you’re thinking of someone else! Then the rumours were true! You are cheating on me!” He buries his face in his hands and begins to sob violently.
Fujiki just looks at him impatiently, if somewhat perplexed. “We both know you don’t believe that for a second.”
Naoki resists the urge to bury his head in his hands as well. Fujiki, the callous moron, has no idea how to properly reassure a jealous date. But it seems to work; said date abruptly stops howling, looping his arm through Fujiki’s and snuggling up against his side.
In the light of the street lamp, Naoki finally gets a good look at the dark-haired regular from the café. He’s… absurdly pretty, at least as much as Fujiki and Ryoken if not more so. Seriously? Does Fujiki emit some kind of signal that attracts ridiculously hot people?
Fujiki’s still in his school uniform, but his date’s gone all out, dressed in a fitted waistcoat of all things, and a dark scarf fastened snugly about his throat with a knot Naoki’s sure would be considered fashionable if he knew anything about fashion. And against the jet black of his hair, the mystery man’s one purple teardrop earring with yellow studs stands out like a sore thumb.
Oh.
Naoki suddenly doesn’t understand anything anymore.
Despite his outburst of physical affection, Fujiki’s date still sports an injured pout. “You don’t know how popular you are! Here I am, sitting quietly and behaving myself like you told me to, and I have to watch you arrange a rendezvous with another man!”
Naoki isn’t the only one staring now, but neither Fujiki nor his date pays the gawkers any mind. Fujiki looks utterly nonplussed, but he rallies at last, giving his arm a futile wiggle to shake his date off. “What’s gotten into you? You know Ryoken asked me to help him with his work, and the only reason you can’t be there is—”
“He doesn’t trust me,” his date finishes cheerfully. “You know, if you’d just let me join you in the truck, I might find it easier to behave myself.”
“Right, after that stunt you pulled with the lipstick.” Fujiki glares at him. “I think not. You’re a menace, and if you’re not going to help out, don’t bother me while I’m at work.”
“How cruel! To be spurned so on this day of love—”
“Ai.”
‘Ai’ grins widely, perfect teeth gleaming in the lamplight. “Ooooh, you know I can’t stay mad when you say my name like that—so commanding. So dominant.”
Yeah, Naoki definitely doesn’t want to know the details. His is a cautionary tale: be careful what you wish for.
“Never fear, my precious Yusaku-chan!” Ai wraps his arms around Fujiki’s shoulders, earring bouncing as he rubs his cheek against his unimpressed date’s. “It doesn’t matter how you treat me; you know Ai’ll always love Yu.”
Fujiki lets out a derisive snort.
“So cold!” Ai shivers dramatically, jostling Fujiki in his arms. “But you confessed first, you know, so no take backs.”
Wait. Fujiki did what?
Fujiki’s face mirrors Naoki’s bewilderment. “You’re the one who said—”
“I was responding to your feelings!” Ai’s razor grin softens, his theatrically saccharine tone melting into something tender, more genuine. “I told you how much I treasured the first gift you ever gave me and asked you what it meant, and you held me in your arms and told me it means love.”
That’s… actually pretty smooth, Naoki has to admit. Although if Fujiki’s expression is any indicator, it wasn’t an intentional move at all. Naoki can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.
“You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” Fujiki says stiffly.
“I know,” Ai agrees solemnly. “But I love you too. Even though you’re mean, and rude, and you didn’t think I had feelings and you used to call me your hostage and kept telling me to shut up—”
“Ai,” Fujiki interrupts.
“Yes, my grumpy, wonderful Yusaku-chan?”
“Shut up.”
And Fujiki yanks the man Naoki is now one hundred percent certain is his boyfriend down by the fashionable scarf, free hand reaching up to tangle in his dark hair.
Like a fairytale, true love’s kiss breaks the spell, and Naoki flees.
He was right about one thing from the start: Fujiki in a relationship is a beast.
It’s close to midnight when Naoki arrives home. His parents have long retired to bed, and the house is silent, leaving him plenty of space to think as he prepares for bed on autopilot.
So, his detective work was all pointless. All his guesses and leads turned out to be a mishmash of circumstantial evidence and premature conclusions, and his intuition only led him round in circles.
What would Playmaker say?
Naoki doesn’t have an answer. He’s exhausted, both physically and mentally, still reeling from the events of the evening. All this effort, all for nothing.
… Only, that’s not quite true, is it? He’s gotten closer to Fujiki than ever before; he’s practically got permission to hang out at his workplace whenever he wants, just like Zaizen, and now he knows a little more about Fujiki’s other friends, all Duelists who just might slowly encourage his interest in the game.
And maybe, if Naoki’s lucky, Fujiki will one day agree to go to Link VRAINS with him.
With this happy thought, Naoki’s about to turn the light off when his Duel Disk pings.
“You have one new message,” his Disk’s AI announces primly.
Naoki grabs it, hardly daring to believe the scrolling purple font blossoming across the screen.
Thanks for the support. — PM
Attached to the note is a virtual chocolate from the Valentine’s Special assortment pack, granting Naoki queue priority at one celebrity handshake event of his choice.
How shy, how like Playmaker to wait until the last second! And he knew just what Naoki wanted! Naoki’s got his work cut out for him for White Day; they may be soulmates, but Playmaker’s mystery is part of his charm, and Naoki isn’t sure how he’s going to contact him to send a gift in return, let alone what Playmaker would even like. But he’s certainly not complaining; after all, how many others can say they got a personal Valentine from the saviour of Link VRAINS himself?
He can’t wait to tell Fujiki about this.